


catch me now, before i fall

by odyssxus



Series: (i carry it in my heart) [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Booker | Sebastien le Livre Needs Therapy, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Family of Choice, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Introspection, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, M/M, Mentions of Panic Attacks, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, helping loved ones with mental health, mental health, mentions of past childhood abuse, time jumps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odyssxus/pseuds/odyssxus
Summary: For Joe, family was everything. It always had been. He'd spent hours with his mother, listening to her weave stories. Running after his sisters, learning trade from his father, and doting on his nieces and nephews. Over the long years of his life his family had changed. He'd grown to love Nicolò, met and adored Andromache and Quynh, and eventually met and grew to love Sébastien as a brother.  And while Nile was new, and had come to them at a difficult time, he already loved her dearly.An exploration of what family means to Joe, and more importantly, what his family means to him.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: (i carry it in my heart) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049579
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	catch me now, before i fall

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not focusing on the history of anywhere they are, but rather on the characters themselves. I tried to be as accurate as possible (thanks to some amazing posts on tumblr!) but there can obviously be some errors, and if you notice any please feel free to point them out. 
> 
> Right - done ranting now! I hope you enjoy my fluff/angst fest! And everyone thank Popi again for inspiring me to write this in the first place, she’s amazing, as well as bjtremike for another amazing (and much needed!) beta read.
> 
> Companion fic to [THIS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26341951/chapters/64150144), though you don't have to read it to understand any of this one.

**_Late August, 1099_ **

“There is a river ahead,” Yusuf said in his broken Latin, indicating with the hand not holding the horse's reins. “We should stop to bathe.” 

Nicolò made a small noise of agreement. Yusuf ignored him. He did not hate the other man - he could not after everything - but his feelings were complicated, and he did not care to focus on them more than he had to. Their new reality was already terrifying enough without factoring in Nicolò, and Yusuf’s uncomfortable feelings. 

They’d been travelling together for over a month now, though Yusuf did not know the exact number of days. He had not bothered to count, as he did not feel the need to. He did not know if Nicolò had been, and while he’d been tempted to ask, he’d resisted. 

Nicolò was a strange man - almost unnervingly quiet at times, with eyes that seemed to see far too much. They’d killed each other several times over the course of the Siege, Yusuf growing more and more exhausted each time. Whenever he slept he’d seen what he could only assume were bits and pieces of the other man's life - him praying in roughspun clothing in a cold room, him looking at the death around him with horror and guilt, him crying as a child, curled up on a small bed while someone yelled...

He could not forgive Nicolò for what he had taken part of. Not now, and perhaps not ever. But the other man was a walking contradiction. Before they ran away from the wreckage of Jerusalem Yusuf had come across the Christian praying over the body of a young child, preparing him for burial. His pale and gaunt face had been covered in tears, and he had not even attempted to defend himself. 

Yusuf had wanted to kill him. Wanted to scream and rage until he died, sick from the horrors around him. 

But he hadn’t. Instead they had left. There was nothing more for them in Jerusalem. 

They had bathed a week into their rather aimless journey to find the two women, but they had studiously taken turns and avoided looking at one another. This river, if Yusuf remembered correctly, was far less private. They would simply have to deal with seeing each other’s forms. Yusuf tried to push down his eagerness at the thought. 

He had always been more attracted to the male form. His late wife had been beautiful and he missed her companionship dearly, but her body had not aroused him. She, in her infinite wisdom and kindness, had known. They had not loved each other as they should, but they had developed a deep friendship. Her death from fever had rocked him to the core, and he would mourn her wisdom for the rest of his life, however long that may be. Now, with how things had turned out, he was grateful they had not had children. They had tried, several times, both wanting a son or daughter to dote on, but had not been successful (1).

He was more than a little attracted to Nicolò. The other man was far too thin, and did not tend to smile, but each little expression made Yusuf yearn for more. He desperately wanted to see him smile, to hear his laughter, and to know it was because of him. It made him uneasy, this longing. He should, by rights, hate Nicolò still. But he did not. He could not. 

When they had food Nicolò always offered it to him first, or gave most of his own portion to strangers on the road. He always took first watch, and had never once raised his weapon to Yusuf, even when Yusuf had purposely been cruel in an effort to anger him. He just looked at Yusuf with his bright eyes full of guilt and grief, and Yusuf’s anger evaporated into nothing. He made an effort in learning Arabic, though his accent did not suit the language, and taught Yusuf Ligurian in turn. They could communicate well enough in Latin, but it was not a language Yusuf liked using as a rule. He would, as it was a common tongue between them, but looked forward to the day they could speak something else. 

Because he could not imagine leaving the other man, strange though he was. Their lives were irrevocably tied together now, for better or for worse. He just hoped it would be for the better. 

He led Nicolò to the river, sighing with relief upon seeing there was no one else around. There were not any towns nearby, but there was always the possibility of highwaymen or worse. They would survive, but he did not want to fight. Now now. He just wanted to get clean, to rinse the dirt off of his skin. 

“There is no one around for miles,” he said, sliding off his horse so the poor animal could have a rest. “We do not need to take turns.” 

Nicolò’s unerring eyes focused on him for a moment, before slipping to the side to gaze at the river. He slid off his own horse, patting the mare’s neck gently. “If you believe it is safe, I shall trust you,” he said, voice honest as it always was. 

Yusuf fought the urge to blush. Nicolò was not one to mince words, and sometimes his honesty was difficult for Yusuf to take. 

“Good then,” he said, finishing taking care of his horse. Nicolò helped automatically, and then they moved to set up camp. They worked well together, moving easily and efficiently. Much more than Yusuf had with the men he’d fought with. He still didn’t know what to think of that. He pushed the thought from his mind. 

He stretched once they were done, stomach rumbling with hunger. He ignored it. He wanted to be clean, then wanted to fill his stomach and sleep in peace. 

He went to the water first, resisting the urge to look back to make sure Nicolò was following him, and stripped down. He washed his rather disgusting clothing first, leaving them to dry in the hot sun, before wading into the river. It was cool, but Yusuf didn’t care. He just wanted to be clean. 

He turned back to the bank, frowning when he saw the look on Nicolò’s face. He was eyeing the water as though it may bite him. Were the stories of Christians hating to bathe true then? Nicolò had certainly taken the time to clean himself the last time they were at a river, but one could never be sure with Christians and their odd notions. 

“Come!” he called. “You will lose sunlight, and your clothing will not dry if you do not hurry.” He turned away again, assuming the man was just shy. 

After a beat of silence he heard the sound of clothing rustling, before several small splashes. He kept cleaning himself, resisting his curiosity. He may still half hate Nicolò, but he would not make him uncomfortable on purpose. His mother had raised him better than that. 

He heard Nicolò cleaning his clothing, before apparently moving on to clean himself. Yusuf half turned. “Feels better, does it…” he trailed off, catching his first glimpse of the other man’s naked form. He was _beautiful_ , if far too thin, but Yusuf had expected that. 

He had not expected the scars. 

His thin back was covered in what looked like lash marks, trailing down to his buttocks and over his hips. There were other scars too, ones Yusuf had noticed before but not thought of for long, assuming they were typical scars from childhood. He himself had a few. But this was more than a childhood accident. The scars were clearly old as well, more than a decade by Yusuf’s estimate. He did not know Nicolò’s age, but he knew the other man was likely around his own age. For the scars to be so old…

Nicolò had noticed his stare by now, and had paled even further, averting his gaze. 

“Forgive me,” Yusuf rasped, throat dry. 

Nicolò shook his head once. “There is nothing to forgive,” he insisted, but Yusuf could see the pain in his pale eyes, and felt guilt despite himself for causing it. 

He forced himself to smile. “I shall start dinner,” he said. “Take your time.” He waded out of the water, studiously not looking at the Christian for all he wanted to take a closer look at the scars covering his body. Part of it was curiosity, and some was genuine sorrow. No one deserved such pain. 

He dressed efficiently, making sure not to look at Nicolò again, though he was desperate to. He pushed the thought from his mind, moving to make a small meal for them both. They did not have much, but there was enough to keep them sated. When they next passed by a town Yusuf would buy more supplies. They were both too thin.

Nicolò joined him what must have been an hour later, pale skin burned red by the sun and dressed in his loose tunic and breeches. The lack of surcoat only made him seem thinner, despite the broadness of his shoulders. Yusuf studied him for a long moment, wondering if he should ask. He should not care about this Frank’s feelings, but he did. He did not want to make him uncomfortable just to satisfy his own curiosity. 

“Here,” he said instead, handing Nicolò one of their worn bowls, filled with the simple strew he’d managed to make. 

Nicolò stared at it for a moment, tears in his eyes. Yusuf’s eyes widened. His instinct was to comfort, but he did not know if Nicolò would welcome that, or if indeed he even wanted to help the other man. 

Nicolò swallowed after a moment, shaking his head minutely. “You have it, please,” he said in quiet Latin. “I am not hungry.” 

Yusuf frowned, still holding the bowl out. “You must eat,” he said slowly. 

Nicolò shook his head again, paler now that his sunburned skin was beginning to heal. “I cannot,” he protested, looking distraught. “I am sorry,” he added, Latin slurring slightly from the speed at which he spoke. 

Yusuf debated on whether or not to push, or to ask what in God’s name was going on, before deciding against it. He didn’t want Nicolò to decide to start killing him again. He didn’t think Nicolò would even consider raising his sword against him in anger again, but Yusuf did not want to risk it. Not when the other man looked as though he had seen the devil himself. 

He set the bowl down close to Nicolò, in case he changed his mind and settled in to eat it, studying the other man as he did. 

He was a mess of contradictions, the odd Christian man his fate was tied to. They had met with violence and pain, killing each other time and time again, yet were now travelling together in peace. He had a wicked sense of humour, but was hesitant to use it, as he was hesitant to even speak at times. Yusuf did not understand him. 

“Please,” Nicolò said again, meeting his eyes. “I am not hungry, and I do not want your meal to go to waste.” 

Yusuf debated for a brief moment, before caving in. He did not know Nicolò enough to be able to tell if he was bluffing or not, and could not bear for any food to go to waste. He’d just have to make sure Nicolò ate come morning . 

Nicolò smiled slightly, a barely there quirk of his lips. “I shall take first watch,” he declared. 

Yusuf raised an eyebrow. “Only if you swear that you will wake me this time,” he said dryly. 

Nicolò shrugged, wicked humour in his bright eyes. “You sleep like the dead,” he teased. “I tried.” 

Yusuf smiled despite himself. This man would be the end of him; he just knew it. “Try harder then.” 

Nicolò snorted softly before nodding and drawing his longsword to sharpen. They had not been beset by thieves yet, but it was a very real possibility. Neither of them wanted to be caught unaware. 

Yusuf finished his meal in comfortable silence as the sun set, feeling full for the first time in what felt like years, before cleaning up after himself and readying his bedroll. He watched Nicolò while he lay down, studying the other man through new eyes. Some of his observations suddenly made more sense, while others only confused him more. 

Nicolò, noticing him watching, tilted his head to the side in question. 

“I apologise,” Yusuf said, slightly embarrassed to be caught staring. 

Nicolò gave one of his small smiles, barely visible now that the sun had set. “There is no need. Now sleep, I shall wake you for the next watch.” 

Yusuf huffed a small laugh, before settling down further, drawing his worn cloak over his shoulders. He was a little mad at himself, but he really was coming to like the strange Christian he was stuck with. He shook himself - knowing it was not the time to overthink his own feelings and emotions. They were complicated enough without adding his exhaustion to the mix. 

He turned onto his back, watching the stars instead of his strange companion, and slowly slipped into sleep. 

  
  
  
  


**_Constantinople, 1154_ **

“Would you tell me?” Yusuf asked, circling his fingers around Nico’s wrist, his thumb resting on an old scar. “If I asked you?”

Nico looked at him, expression open. “Yes,” he replied softly, supple mouth curving into a slight smile. 

Yusuf watched his expression carefully, reading the trepidation in his eyes and the tenseness to his shoulders despite the smile on his face. He already knew where some of the scars came from. He could wait to find out about the others. “Can I touch you?” 

Nico went from looking nervous to amused in one breath. “You can always touch me,” he said simply. 

Yusuf grinned, letting go of Nico’s wrist and pulling him into a kiss. He thought briefly to do more, but likewise knew not to push the other man too far. The fact that it had been Nico to kiss him in the first place still shocked him. Yusuf was no stranger to his attraction to men, but Nico had been terrified, sure he would be hated and rejected. Yusuf would gladly wait an eternity if it meant Nico was comfortable and happy. 

At this point he knew Nico better than he knew himself in many ways. They were two halves of a soul, even though they had only recently admitted their mutual feelings for one another. When he was with Nico, Yusuf felt like he could take on anything the world would throw at them. He still missed his family with a desperation that felt like it would never end, but Nico helped lessen the pain. He would show him that small smile of his, cook him a meal, or simply sit in companionable silence and allow Yusuf to yammer away. 

Yusuf would have gone mad if it weren’t for him. 

Nico always rolled his eyes when he told him so, but it was the truth. Nico’s relative calmness and logical way of thinking had made it so Yusuf could calm his at times chaotic mind and relax when he would otherwise be unable to. 

Nico, Yusuf knew, thought Yusuf was the one helping him. Helping him through his fear in large cities, the times when he would get locked in his own mind, or when eating would be too much… and Yusuf _was_ helping him. But Nico was helping him in return. Their relationship went both ways, though Nico, at times, seemed sure Yusuf was getting nothing out of it. 

Yusuf was determined to shake that thought from his love’s mind. 

“I got this one,” he said, pointed at a small scar in the crook of his elbow, “when I fell out of a tree.”

Nico stared at him for a moment, before cracking a smile. “A tree?” 

Yusuf nodded serenely. “A tree. I was running from my mother when she wanted me to help with chores when I was about ten.” 

Nico’s smile widened. “Let me guess,” he said, eyes sparkling, “you were hiding.” 

Yusuf chuckled. “I was,” he confirmed. “It didn’t work - my mother was always able to find me.” 

Nico’s smile turned wistful, and he brushed a curl from Yusuf’s forehead. “What was she like,” he asked. “Your mother?” 

Yusuf closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back. His mother had been alive when he had left to defend Jerusalem, as had his sisters. She had been middle aged when he’d left, but Yusuf had not dared to go back to his home after leaving the bloody gates of Jerusalem. He half wished he had gone back one last time, but likewise knew he had made the right choice. 

It did not stop him from mourning his old life. 

His sisters may still be alive. He was 88 years old now, and while his elder sister had likely passed with old age, the younger ones may yet live if they had resisted illness. He liked to think they had, though he knew they were unlikely to still be alive. 

Nico waited patiently, still stroking his hair. 

“She was beautiful,” he said. “And so kind. My father was as well. They loved me and my sisters completely, even when I was avoiding chores or getting into mischief. She was the one who taught me to read, and to cook.” 

Nico smiled. “I should thank her then,” he teased. “As you have taught me to read Arabic and how to cook your favourite meals.” His smile changed, and he leaned forwards, resting his forehead against Yusuf’s. “I am sorry,” he said, voice honest as always. “I cannot imagine how difficult it was to lose them.” 

A flash of guilt crossed Nico’s face, and Yusuf kissed it away. They had spoken at length about what had brought them together, and did not need to rehash it now. They were together, and that was all Yusuf cared about in his moment. 

“She used to tell me stories,” he said, voice soft. He did not feel near tears, did not feel the crushing sorrow of having lost his family, but wanted to keep the moment quiet and comforting. “Fantastical tales she would make up. My sisters and I would desperately try to keep our eyes open to hear more, but her voice was so soothing we would inevitably fall asleep.” 

Nico pulled him closer so that their breath mingled, green eyes warm in the dim candle light. “Can you tell me one?” he asked. 

Yusuf smiled, leaning in to kiss Nico. “I would love to,” he answered honestly, and began speaking in a low voice, remembering his mother’s voice and his sister’s breathless excitement at the tales she wrought for them. Nico listened in silence, a small smile still on his wonderful face. 

His father would have adored Nico. 

He had likewise still been alive when Yusuf had left for Jerusalem, though growing frail. He had been quieter then Yusuf’s mother overall, and when he spoke his words were measured and always needed, unlike Yusuf who spoke in poetry more often than not. His mother had been the same way. 

Perhaps that is why he and Nico fit so well together. 

Eventually his lover fell asleep in his arms, face lax with sleep, just like Yusuf used to do when his mother had told him the same tale. He forced himself to stay awake, feeling like he could cry or sing, or both. He missed his home and his family with an ache he sometimes felt would never leave him. He missed the way his mother would playfully slap his hand when he snuck food, the way his father would dote on his sister’s children, 

He even missed his wife, though she had died several years before leaving to fight. She would have loved Nico once she got to know him.

He tucked himself closer to the other man, listening to his heart beat, fingers tracing one of the larger scars on his back. He did not know the details of his lover's early life, but could make his own assumptions. There had been several off-hand comments about a father who enjoyed to drink and disliked his children, or a cold Church, and of a certain Priest. Yusuf was a smart man, and could easily read between the lines, especially when he saw how the memories would make Nico act. 

He was still tempted to get a ship to Genoa and rage at several individuals, though he logically knew they were long dead. 

For the most part he was comfortable with his emotions. 

He felt deeply - too deeply at times - but was never afraid of expressing himself. He would (and had) scream and cry, laugh and sing, spout poetry and declarations of love, and laugh until he could not breathe. For the most part this worked for him. He was able to feel his emotions, express them and get them out, regardless of them being good or bad. 

Nico was the opposite. 

He would hold his emotions close until they overwhelmed him, leaving him shaking and unable to breathe. 

It had terrified Yusuf the first time it had happened, years ago now in Athens. The crowds had overwhelmed the other man - something about the noise, the crush of people, the smells… and left him barely able to breathe or speak. 

Yusuf had nearly panicked himself, though he had managed to keep himself calm at the time. It had only been after, lying in a narrow bed in an Athenian inn, that Yusuf had allowed himself to cry. 

Since then he had made it his mission to help Nico, just as Nico helped him. 

Nico helped him stay calm, helped him centre himself, helped him simply be. The least he could do was help Nico in return. 

Nico moved suddenly, letting out a small sigh in his sleep, and Yusuf allowed his slightly melancholy thoughts to drift away. Missing his family, his old life, did not make him love Nico any less, and while he would never forget them, he would not focus on their loss. They would want him to be happy, to live his life and move on as much as possible. He owed them that. 

They had loved him completely, and would never want him to suffer on their account. 

He chose to stay awake for several more hours, sliding out of Nico’s arms to find some charcoal and vellum, intent on sketching his love by the light of the candle flames. Nico sighed slightly, settling on his back, long hair splayed in the lumpy pillow. It needed to be cut, as did his own. 

Eventually he put the charcoal down, wiping his hands on the cloak he’d left carelessly on the floor the night before before returning to Nico’s arms. He still did not sleep, needing to be able to see his lover, his life, and feel his heartbeat. He did not feel the same type of odd panic that would sometimes grip Nico, but he did feel more grounded when Nico was safe in his arms. 

All he wanted was for them both to live safely and happily together. Seeing Nico happy was like a balm to his very soul. His laughter made him feel nothing but joy, regardless of his previous mood. He would gladly spend the rest of his immortal life making his lover happy. It would bring him nothing but joy to do so. 

Eventually the sky began to lighten ever so slightly, and he hurried from the bed for Salat al-fajr. He did not pray daily anymore, not after all the deaths he had endured and the life he led, but it still helped to give him clarity and focus. Nico, he knew, still prayed as well. He would frequent a nearby Church, talking to the Father there at length. 

Yusuf did not mind, just as Nico did not mind his prayers. The role of religion in their lives had changed, but was still hugely present in many ways. He did not know if that would always be the case, but he would let that evolve naturally. 

Nico stirred as he finished praying, hair mussed from sleep and expression slightly grumpy. If he needed to wake up he would in an instant, but otherwise it took him an endearingly long time to become coherent. It was just one of the things Yusuf loved about him. 

“Did you stay up all night?” Nico yawned, squinting in the rising sun. 

Yusuf nodded, kneeling by the side of the bed to kiss him softly. Nico smiled into the kiss before breaking away to yawn. Yusuf, unable to resist the temptation of having Nico sleepy and comfortable in his arms, crawled into the narrow bed. Nico pushed closer, warm and loving. 

“It’s early yet,” he said in slurred Arabic. “We can sleep some more. Then I want to find more of those honey cakes.” 

Yusuf nodded into the back of Nico’s neck, pleased as he always was when the other man mentioned wanting food. He wasn’t sure he would want to sleep, so full of love, but eventually Nico’s steady breathing lulled him into dreams.

When he woke several hours later it was to Nico running a hand through his curls as he pursued Yusuf’s sketchbook, a soft smile on his face. He ran a finger carefully over the drawing, looking down at Yusuf. 

“You are so talented, love,” he said in Ligurian. 

Yusuf smiled, kissing Nico’s palm. “Only because I have such a good muse.” 

Nico huffed a small laugh but didn’t protest. He’d tried, years ago now, but Yusuf always shut him down with kind words and gestures. Nico was his muse, in more ways than one. 

He rolled out of bed, stretching languidly. “Come, let’s go find those honey cakes.” 

Nico made a face, apparently unwilling to get out of bed, but allowed Yusuf to pull him up, sliding into his arms when he was on his feet. Yusuf traced one of the thicker scars on his back, brow furrowed and angry at some nameless spectre in his lover’s past. 

Nico kissed his forehead. “I’m fine, love,” he said gently. “It happened a long time ago.” 

Yusuf sighed, moving away to pull on his boots, passing Nico his. “I know,” he replied. “But I am still sorry it happened at all.” 

Nico gave him a rare grin, his face lighting up. “I have you now,” he said simply. “You are all I ever need.” 

Yusuf flushed, grinning bashfully. “And you are all I’ll ever need,” he said in return. He waited for Nico to pull on his tunic. “Now come, let’s go find some food.” 

  
  
  
  
  


**_1243, Kingdom of Poland_ **

Yusuf liked the women. He really did. They were the most incredible people he had ever met. 

But he did not trust them. Not yet. 

He wanted to, but there was a part of him that was hesitating. It had been him and Nico, known as Nikolas in this strange land, for nearly one hundred and fifty years now. They’d had time to learn each other inside and out, to know each other’s minds and each other’s fears and dreams. The women were new, and at times seemed almost too cold and otherworldly. 

Nico, however, in a move that still shocked Yusuf, had loved them immediately. 

In the back of his mind Yusuf knew that should make him trust them as well, but it hadn’t. It made him all the more eager to guard himself and his lover against hurt. He knew he was being ridiculous, but could not help himself. It had been him and Nico against the world for 144 years now, and while that was only a small fraction of time in comparison to how long Andromache and Quynh had lived, he had grown comfortable with his life. 

He and Nico had travelled from place to place, helping where they could in small ways. They would help a farmer in one place, guard a caravan in another, or simply help those in need. It was a good life, and Yusuf enjoyed it. He enjoyed making people happy, and knew that Nico felt the same way. 

But the women were different. 

They helped as well, but in far bigger ways. They felt that it was their duty as immortals, and travelled to the far reaches of the known world to make a difference. It was exhausting, and Yusuf constantly felt like he was not doing enough. He hated it. 

“Are you alright?” Nikolas asked, voice too soft for anyone but him to hear. 

Yusuf, now known as Jozef, shrugged slightly. “Fine,” he responded just as silently, though it was a lie. Nikolas just gave him an unimpressed look, not buying his answer for a moment. 

“We have to go,” was all Jozef said, kissing Nikolas on the cheek to calm his frustration. Just being with his lover, feeling his soft skin under his hands or his lips, made him feel like everything would be alright. 

Nikolas smiled slightly, brushing their hand together for a brief moment, before starting their long trek to meet Andromache and Quynh. 

Jozef followed behind him automatically, one hand on his knife. There were sometimes enemies in the woods, and while he and Nikolas would revive, Jozef could not bear to see anything happen to his beloved. It hurt him to see the other man in pain. He would die one thousand deaths to stop Nikolas from experiencing one. 

He knew his lover felt the same about him, but it was almost a compulsion for him. They had fought about it before, multiple times, how he would step in and defend Nikolas at the slightest hint of harm. Sometimes it was warranted, other times… not so much. 

“No,” Nikolas said suddenly, stopping in a clearing. “You’re not alright.” He took a step closer, looping his arms around Jozef’s neck. Jozef looked into his bright green eyes, heart full enough to burst. 

“I miss making a difference in smaller ways,” he admitted, thinking back to their lives before meeting Andromache and Quynh. “We’re not doing anything here, and Andromache and Quynh…” he trailed off with a grimace. 

Nikolas signed, leaning in to rest his forehead on Jozef’s shoulder, simply holding him close. Jozef hugged him back just as tightly. Nikolas used to jump whenever he was touched, used to pain from childhood, and then touch starved as an adult. It had been difficult, at first, as Jozef took comfort from being physically close to his family and friends, but they had managed, and they had learned together.

“You do not like them,” Nikolas stated, pressing himself closer. 

Jozef signed into the other man's shoulder. “I do,” he protested, for he did like them overall. “They are incredible.” 

Nikolas pulled back, giving Jozef such a disbelieving look he couldn't help but laugh. 

“They are!” he chucked. 

Nikolas just raised an eyebrow. Jozef couldn’t help but think back to his lover’s time as a Priest, and how his congregation would never be able to lie to him. Jozef had tried, over the years, to keep things from him, but had never managed. It was impossible. He was sure even Andromache and Quynh would have trouble. 

He smiled ruefully, brushing Nikolas’ hair back from his face. Nikolas turned his head, kissing his palm gently. 

“I miss when it was just us,” he admitted. “When we were helping people we could talk to and know, rather than helping armies and empires.” 

Nikolas didn’t say anything, just regarded him with calm eyes. Jozef was glad to see the expression - there had been too many times when Nikolas had been anything but calm, and it always hurt him to see. 

“I do too,” Nikolas admitted, a small smile on his face. “But here…” he broke off when a crack sounded nearby, before relaxing at the site of a mouse running by. “But here we can make a difference in something bigger.” He shrugged slightly. “And who’s to say we can’t still help normal people?” 

Jozef raised an eyebrow, copying his lover. “Andromache and Quynh,” he retorted dryly. 

Nikolas chucked slightly. “They’ll need some time to themselves eventually,” he predicted. “Then we can take some time for ourselves.” 

Jozef considered the two women for a moment, before agreeing. “You are correct, as always darling.” 

Nikolas leaned forward and kissed him again. “I worry about small things,” he said simply. “You worry about the bigger picture.” 

“You worry about everything,” Jozef retorted, not even lying. He typically was not a worrier as a rule, but occasionally thoughts would creep into his mind and refuse to let go. Nikolas tended to get stuck in his own head far more often than he did. It had confused his father, who’d tended towards internalizing his emotions, but his mother had understood and encouraged him to feel. 

Nikolas shrugged. “You are also suspicious of them,” he added. “You can worry about us both in this case. I trust them.” 

Jozef pinched his side, delighting in the faint squeak Nikolas made. “I do not want to see you hurt,” he admitted. “And getting involved in a war for rulers neither of us care about? That seems like a ridiculous reason to die. We owe these people nothing.” 

Nikolas, much to Jozef's surprise, burst out laughing. “You don’t believe a word of that Yusuf,” he chucked, using his real name. “Not at all, you simply missed seeing the people we help.” 

Jozef laughed as well, unable to remain in a sour mood when Nikolas was happy and in his arms. Or in his arms at all. After so long he found it hard to believe there had been a time he had hated him. 

“No, I suppose I don’t,” he admitted. “But I much rather help those I can know. And,” he added, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder. Quynh and Andromache were nowhere near, but he was always nervous they’d appear when he was talking about them. They’d been nothing but wonderful to him and Nikolas, but Jozef was well aware they were better than him in a fight. 

He cleared his throat. “And, we do not know Andromache and Quynh. Not really. Not yet.” 

Nikolas learned in, resting their foreheads together. “I know,” he whispered in Arabic. “But we watched them in our dreams for over a century, and they have been nothing but kind to us, We were meant to find each other, I think.” 

Jozef snorted, finally managing to separate so they could continue walking. “You only say that because Andromache has essentially adopted you,” he teased, thinking back to how the ancient woman treated his lover. She treated him well of course, and Jozef suspected once his odd hesitancy passed he would love her and Quynh dearly, but Andromache had most definitely staked her claim on Nikolas. Jozef didn’t blame her at all, for he felt the same way. 

Nikolas shrugged, lacing their fingers together as they walked. “Perhaps,” he agreed, for he knew better than to argue. “But they love you as well. Despite your suspicion. I think they find us cute.” 

Jozef snorted. Cute indeed. 

“When this,” he said, waving an arm widely to encapsulate the entire area, “is over, I want to get away. With or without Andromache and Quynh, and help _normal_ people. Not Kings and Queens.” 

“We helped in the last several Crusades,” Nikolas pointed out. 

Jozef nodded. They had, and he did not regret it for a moment. “You’re making your point, love,” he said. They did help in bigger ways often enough, and had even when it was just the two of them. They’d just always made sure not to forget the little people while doing so. 

“We should talk to them, after we are done here,” Jozef mused. “If it was destiny to find them, perhaps they will listen to our ideas.” 

Nikolas nodded, and squeezed his hand. “Feeling better?” he asked. 

Jozef tilted his head back, looking up at the clear blue sky through the thick canopy of trees. “I am,” he said honestly. “I still am undecided on them, in some ways though. I don’t want to see you hurt, and doing this...” 

“I don’t want to see you hurt either.” 

Jozef looked down again, studying his beloved face. He itched to draw him, though knew that would not be possible for some time. “I know,” he said softly. “I know, love.” 

They walked for some time in silence, simply enjoying being in one another's presence. It had happened too rarely lately, them getting to be alone. They were either with other armies, troops of men, or Andromache and Quynh. And while Jozef did feel like they were doing something good and enjoyed being able to help, he yearned for more time with Nikolas. He always did. 

“We should go back to Malta,” Jozef mused, speaking of the island they’d spent 4 years on in peace. It had a large Muslim population, and while Nikolas had issues with Sicilians and the Sicilian rule, he had grown to love the island as well. 

Nikolas hummed in agreement, before tensing and letting go of his hand when sounds from a camp began to drift through the trees. Jozef sighed internally, but understood. There were many that did not care if he and Nikolas were involved, but there were always those who did. They did not need to deal with that on top of a war. 

“I love you,” he said simply, speaking in the Ligurian of his Nikolas’ youth. 

Nikolas turned, offering him a rare but wonderful smile. “I love you too,” before continuing to walk, greeting the waiting men with a soft smile. 

Jozef followed, grinning his own greetings. He still was not sure of this new path they were taking, but he knew with Nikolas by his side he would be happy no matter where he was. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Mid 1600’s, England,**

He didn’t know what to do. 

He wanted to keep looking for Quynh, for his sister. He wanted to grab Andromache and never let her go, wanted to make her eat, make her someone feel whole again. He wanted the men who tossed Quynh into the ocean so he could force them to talk. 

And most of all he wanted to keep Nicholas forever at his side, never out of his site. 

They’d been separated in the past, of course. They’d been taken, tortured, killed, and maimed. But never like this. Never like Quynh. 

They had _nothing_.

They’d been scouring the channel for over a year now. Nicholas, who had always been best with seafaring, had taken to pouring over charts with a franticness that terrified Joseph at times. He understood, but watching his lover waste away was killing him. Nicolas only slept when he was near collapse, and then slept like the dead, like he was now. 

“Andromache,” he said, voice hoarse. “You must sleep.” 

She didn’t look away from the sea, but Yusuf knew she had heard him. She always did. 

“Please,” he said, daring to reach out and brush her shoulder gently. “Nico thinks he has an idea of where to search in the morning.” 

She finally turned to look at him, eyes dry yet full of emotion. “We can’t go on like this,” she said roughly. “Not after what happened to Nico.”

Yusuf felt a swell of emotions rise in his chest. They had all died countless times in the search Quynh, but this last time had been too close. The rope tying Nico to the ship had somehow come undone, and before Yusuf had grasped it, it had slipped away. He had drowned several times by the time they'd found him, and had died again once he and Andromache had managed to haul him onto the ship.

He’d taken too long to wake. 

Far too long. 

Yusuf had bundled him off to their shared cabin, holding him desperately and sobbing into his matted hair. Nico had clutched him right back, tears dripping down his cheeks. Watching Andromache loose Quynh brought home their own vulnerability. Neither of them would survive the other's loss. Yusuf knew if he ever were to lose Nico, he would tear down the sky to get him back, uncaring of the destruction he caused. 

Nico, exhausted, had slipped into sleep. Eventually Yusuf had left him, knowing that while he never wanted his lover out of his sight, he also needed to care for his remaining sister. Quynh, when she returned to them, would never forgive him otherwise. 

“Andromache…” he managed to say, tears filling his eyes. “We cannot just -”

“We can,” she said harshly, every line of her body showing her exhaustion and grief. “Quynh would never forgive me if something happened to either of you in an effort to save her. _Never_.” 

Yusuf shook his head, inserting himself in front of her against the ship’s railing. He grasped her hands in his, squeezing them tightly. He knew the expression on her face. It was the one she wore when they had not done enough, when innocents died and suffered, and when the cruel won. He hated that she was wearing it now, about this. 

She brushed a long fingered hand over his beard, grown long and messy in their search. None of them had cared for anything but finding Quynh in a long time. 

She ran a hand over his hair next, expression strange. “We are done,” she finally repeated. “I cannot lose the two of you as well.” She took a slow breath, visibly swallowing down emotion. “With any luck she will be dead by now,” she said with grief clear in her tone. "She will have died so many times by now.” 

Yusuf surged forwards, wrapping her in a bone crushing hug. She sobbed against his shoulder, keening in despair. He could not even begin to imagine how she felt. If something were to happen to Nico… 

He pushed the thought from his mind, his own eyes wet. Andromache needed him now, and he would be there for her. 

She pushed away after several long minutes, studying his face again. Yusuf let her, allowing his eldest sister to take her time studying his sleep. Yusuf thought for a moment. They were anchored in a remote stop, far from prying eyes and other ships. They did not need anyone to keep watch. Not tonight. 

“Come,” he said, putting an arm around her slender shoulders. “Nicolò will be cold without us there to warm him.”

That drew a small laugh out of her, little more than a huff of air, but Yusuf counted it as a victory. 

“He’s always cold,” she stated truthfully. Even in warm climates his Nico would have cold hands. 

He led her into the cabin, not bothering to look away as she tiredly stripped down to her tunic. She was far too thin. They all were. On the bed Nico stirred slightly, blinking his eyes open in confusion. He exchanged a quick glance with Yusuf, before switching his attention to Andromache. 

He smiled slightly at her instead of speaking, moving one hand slightly off the bed in an inviting motion. She managed a slight smile for him, as Yusuf suspected she would. She’d always had a soft spot for Nicky, not that Yusuf blamed her. She lay down facing him, pressing herself against his chest. Yusuf climbed over them both, settling against his lover’s back where he could brace both Nicolò and Andromache. 

He had always been selfish with those he considered family, wanting them close always, His father had not understood. But his mother had, for she'd felt the same. He still, even after all these years, felt guilty for leaving her. For making her live with his apparent death. 

He forced those thoughts from his mind, tightening his grip on Nico and Andromache. The ancient woman was already succumbing to exhaustion, tension slowly leaving her frame. Nico, who had not truly been awake when they’d come in, was already sleeping again, his breath slow and steady. Yusuf nuzzled into the back of his neck, breathing in his scent desperately. 

They were not alright. Not now and likely not for years. But they were all together. They would survive, as they always had. 

  
  
  
  


**1844, France**

“You weren’t like this with me,” Andrea said shortly. 

Joseph shrugged. “I was suspicious of you.” 

Andrea rolled her eyes, bumping their shoulders together in a companionable way. “And we were suspicions of you and Nico,” she retorted. “For all of a day.” 

Joseph grinned. “A bit longer than that,” he admitted. “But Nicholas was very convincing.” 

Andrea flashed him an increasingly rare grin. “He is a stubborn bastard,” she agreed fondly. And she was right - once Nicholas dug his heels in it was near impossible to change his mind. 

“He’s not my favourite either,” Andrea said bluntly, speaking of Sébastien. “He drinks too much and is downright depressing to be around, but he’s not bad, I suppose.” 

Joseph snorted. “High praise coming from you!” 

Andrea grinned wolfishly. “You and Nicholas made me dream of the two of you pining after each other for fifty years,” she pointed out, purposefully not mentioning Quynh. “Then we spent the next century or so watching the two of you protect caravans, help random people fix their homes, make each other food…” 

“Make love?” Joseph interjected teasingly. 

Andrea didn’t even react. “The point is, I couldn't not like the two of you. Not after watching you adopt a stray cat in my dreams.” 

“He was a good cat!” 

Andrea ignored him, taking a small sip of her wine. 

Joseph stretched his neck, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold her off forever. “Nicholas is weary of him as well,” he pointed out. 

Andrea smacked in on the leg. “He’s slower to warm up to strangers than you are normally, I expect this from him.” 

Joseph grimaced. “You make us sound like cats ourselves.” He paused. “Or children.” He honestly didn’t know which would be worse. 

Andrea, true to form, didn’t answer beyond a smirk. 

“He does not seem to trust or like us,” Joseph pointed out, looking out the window of the cabin to where Nicholas was helping train Sébastien. The newest immortal stumbled, tripping over his own feet. He was a good fighter, and keen to learn, but stubborn, and seemed to have issues learning from both Joseph and Nicolas as they looked younger than him. 

Andrea shrugged. “So he can be an ass. So am I. He’s nice enough most of the time.” 

Joseph closed his eyes, mentally begging for patience. He didn’t dislike Sébastien, not really. But the younger man was grieving, and grieving badly. He took out his pain and sorrow on those around him whenever he drank, and while Joseph did not begrudge him his pain and never would, he _did_ begrudge how his sorrow was hurting Nicholas. And him, to a lesser extent, but he could forgive that. They protected each other after all. Andrea just deemed him amusing, though he knew she felt keenly for him as well. She had lost her family after all, long ago, and countless others. 

They all had old grief, and the fresh pain of Quynh’s loss. 

Hearing that she was still alive and in Sébastien’s dreams only made her loss worse. 

He pushed the thought from his head. “Shall we check the snares?” 

She shook her head. “I’ll help Nico in the kitchen,” she stated, tone leaving no room for argument. 

He shot her a look. Andromache the Scythian could do many amazing things, but she was no cook. 

She gave him a glare right back, and he brought up his hands in surrender. He knew better than to argue with his oldest sister when she gave him _that_ look. 

“I’ll take Sébastien then,” he chuckled. He walked over to the other men, sparing Sébastien a nod before greeting Nicholas with a kiss. The other man smiled against his lips before stepping back, still reserved around the Frenchman. It had taken the other man over a year to realise they were romantically involved, and though he had not reacted badly (as if Andrea would have allowed that), Nicholas in particular still was unsure about flaunting their love in front of him, especially so soon after his wife’s death, relatively speaking. 

“Andrea said she’ll help you with dinner,” he informed his lover with a teasing grin. 

Nicholas’s eyes widened, and his nose wrinkled in dismay. Sébastien, noticing the expression, snorted in with laughter. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that woman cook,” he mused, running a large hand through his sweaty hair. 

“You’re lucky then,” Nicholas mumbled darkly in Italian. 

Sébastien was not fluent in the language, not yet, but knew enough to understand. He gave Nicholas a look of deep amusement, the darkness in his eyes temporarily lighter. 

“Come,” Joe said, stepping away from Nicky after exchanging a quick and knowing glance. “We need to check the snares.” 

Sébastien nodded, giving him a thoughtful look. They watched together as Nicholas and Andrea retreated into the small but well appointed cabin he and Nicholas had purchased about 20 years earlier. They left the door open, allowing the cool spring air to drift in. Also to help prevent smoke inhalation if Andrea managed to set something on fire. 

Again. 

“Come on then,” Joseph said, grinning at the taller man. “Let’s see what we caught.” He spoke in Arabic, slowly and carefully. He could remember how difficult it could be to learn a new language after all. And while it was easier for him now, he did not want to make Sébastien feel stupid for not catching on. 

Sébastien frowned slightly, mentally translating the words, before replying in Italian. His spoken Arabic was still, admittedly, horrible. He would get there though. After all, they had time. 

“Hopefully a good bounty,” he said. 

Joseph’s smile widened. His Italian was growing in leaps and bounds. It was influenced by Nicholas’ own dialect of course, as well as his, but it was passable. For the most part. 

He nodded, strolling through the trees with his hands shoved in his pockets. Sébastien lit a pipe, making him wrinkle his nose slightly. He did not begrudge the other man his vices, but was not a fan of the smell. As long as he didn’t smoke inside he wouldn’t say anything however. 

Sébastien had been with them for a little over a year by now. 

He had adjusted to his immortality poorly. They all had, at the beginning, but it had been thirty two years since his first death. Even Joseph's patience was running out. They’d all faced loss and grief after all, but they did not take it out on others. 

Not even Andrea, who had lost the woman she had loved for thousands of years. 

“I had a wife,” Joseph finally said, making Sébastien jerk his head to look at him. “Parents who were alive and well, three sisters, hoards of nieces and nephews.” He said. He’d mentioned his family before, in passing, but thought it better to expand now. “My wife passed before I went to defend Jerusalem - a fever - the rest of my family was safe and well when I left.” 

He glanced sidelong at Sébastien, noting his studious and slightly mulish expression. He pressed one. 

“We all left our family behind, we have all faced loss. You know this. You have dreamt this,” he added, reminding Sébastien of his dreams of Quynh. They no longer came nightly, or even monthly, but Joseph knew they still came. 

“You have not lost children,” Sébastien countered, though his heart did not seem to be in it. 

Joseph laughed then. “You know that is not true,” he said. “I heard you and Nicholas talked about the children we have fostered over the years. And while they were not our blood, and we left them as adults, we loved them just the same.” 

Sébastien chucked as well, though it was not a particularly cheerful sound. “I know,” he admitted, slipping back into French. Joseph didn’t bother correcting him, not when they were talking about something so difficult. 

“Thank you,” Sébastien said after another long silence. “You have all been very… very patient.” 

Joseph bent down to check a snare. “You mean Nicholas has been patient,” he said simply. 

Sébastien made a small sound, before walking nearby to the second snare when Joseph’s came up empty. 

Joseph stretched, yawning loudly. He’d stayed up late sketching the night before, and was regretting it. Nicholas, who’d encouraged him to sleep, had been smug all day. 

“Nicholas is the most patient out of all of us,” he explained. “With everything. Though he does have a temper.” 

Sébastien did chuckle then, straightening with a rabbit dangling from his hand. “I would never guess that from him,” he admitted. “Even when he killed men to save me in Russia, and more than held his own fighting.” 

Joseph grinned, happier now that he was talking about his favourite subject. Quynh used to tease him, telling him that Nicholas wasn’t going to disappear if he stopped talking about him. 

“It takes a lot to get him genuinely angry,” he said, checking the last snare. Empty. “But it happens.” 

Sébastien gave him a sidelong look as they began to walk back. “Let me guess,” he said, speaking Italian again, “he will get angry if you are hurt. Or Andrea,” 

Joseph nodded easily. His Nicholas was nothing if not protective of his family. “And now you, Sébastien,” he said. The other man may irritate him at times, but he did think they would end up being close friends. 

Sébastien laughed then, loud enough to startle a bird from a nearby tree, but did not say a word. Joseph just raised an eyebrow, smiling again. 

“We come bearing meat!” he shouted, entering the cabin first. Nicholas looked up at him with such a relieved expression that Joseph all but yelled his laughter. 

“Has our dear Andromache been running you ragged?” he demanded in the language only they shared, a mix of Ligurian, Arabic, and some words of their own invention. 

Andrea, knowing by now when they were talking about her, threw a chunk of potato at his head. He let it hit, laughing again. Nicholas brought their forwards together for a brief moment, breathing the same air. 

“How is it,” Sébastien asked, sounding genuinely curious, “that you cannot cook?” 

Andrea, thankfully, didn’t take offence at the question. “I’ve never had the need,” she shrugged, somehow managing to look as dignified as a queen despite chopping potatoes. Nicholas eyes her nervously, looking like he wanted to take over. 

Joseph pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. 

Sébastien watched them for a moment, expression closed and strange. “I’ll clean the rabbit,” he offered. “If the two of you make sure our supper is edible.” 

Andrea snorted, but waved the newest immortal off. She was in a good mood at least. 

He turned slightly, breathing in Nicholas’ scent. The cabin was small, but had three bedrooms, giving them all space. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed, holding Nicolas close. He could tell from the way Nicholas leaned in close that he felt the same. Seeing Andrea’s grief, and now Sébastien’s, had made them realise how much they needed one another. Joseph would not survive if Nicholas were to be lost to him. And he knew Nicholas like wise would not survive his loss. 

He pulled away first, brushing his fingers against the other man’s when he made a small sound of annoyance. 

“I’ll finish that,” he declared, taking the knife from Andrea with a flourish. Nicholas let out a sigh of relief. 

“I could learn to cook if I wanted to,” Andrea said, pouring wine for them all. 

Nicholas just raised an eyebrow. “You could not!” 

Andrea leaned back, looking surprised yet incredibly amused. “I could!” 

“Could what?” Sébastien asked, coming back inside with the cleaned rabbit. Nicholas reached for it absentmindedly, preparing it easily for the stew. 

“Cook,” Andrea said, crossing her arms over her chest after handing Sébastien his wine. 

Sébastien exchanged a quick look with Nicholas, before he turned back to Andrea with a serious expression. 

“Andrea,” he said. “I have learned many things this past year. How to use a sword -”

“Not well,” she cut in, smile as sharp as a knife. 

Sébastien ignored her. “How to read other languages and speak them, how to track…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “And,” he added, holding up his wine as though he was making a toast. “I have learned that you cannot cook.” 

Nicholas, for perhaps the first time since Sébastien had started travelling with them, laughed loudly and freely. “He has you there, Andrea,” he teased, bright eyes flashing. 

Sébastien smiled as well, a blush on his cheeks. Joseph watched in amusement. He himself smiled and laughed (and occasionally grew angry or sad) freely, while his lover kept his emotions internal until they forced their way out. Many thought Nicholas to be unfeeling, but Joseph knew better. He felt keenly, and incredibly deeply. They all did. 

He caught Andrea’s eye, nodding slightly. 

He still was not completely sure of Sébastien and how he fit into their family, not sure of how he was coping with his grief and his pain, but the man had the potential to be a brother to him, just as Andrea (and Quynh) were his sisters. 

He moved to help Nicholas cook, nudging Sébastien into a seat next to Andrea. The woman immediately began regaling him with some ridiculous story that Joseph only half remembered, one he thought he was better off forgetting if the wicked grin on her face was anything to go by. 

He pushed his hip into Nicholas’, playfully grabbing a slice of carrot. Nicholas scowled, slapping his hand gently. 

Their family hand changed, in ways none of them liked. But Sébastien would hopefully be, after he healed more, a blessing for them. And even if he wasn’t, he would always have Nicholas and Andrea. 

“Pour me some more wine?” Nicholas asked, hands messy from handling the rabbit. 

Joseph kissed his cheek. “Of course love.” 

Sébastien handed him the bottle without looking, still listening intently to Andrea. Joseph caught Nicholas’ eye and smiled again. 

Things were working out just fine. A little broken, a little messy, but fine.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 1 - In all likelihood as a merchant Yusuf would have been married. But with how many people have trouble getting pregnant, it’s not unlikely he didn’t have children. He’d be away a lot, women can have difficulty getting pregnant, they may “try” at the wrong time… There are so many possibilities. I just cannot imagine Yusuf leaving a child. A wife maybe, but not a child. And I just can’t make myself write him having lost one either. 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading, and please let me know what you thought! :)


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